Bluebirds by Margaret Mayhew Page A

Are you happy?’
    â€˜Most of the time, I suppose.’
    â€˜Not
all
of the time? Bad show that. We’ll have to do something about it. I’m happy all the time. Take no thought for the morrow – that’s my motto. Live dangerously for today. My real name’s Ian, by the way. Far better known, though, as Speedy.’
    She asked why and then instantly regretted it. He tried, unsuccessfully, to look modest.
    â€˜Because I’m the fastest worker in the squadron – on the ground.’
    â€˜Really?’ she said coldly.
    â€˜Really. Honest injun. No girl can resist me. You might not believe it to look at me, but there it is.’ He eyed her appreciatively across the rim of his glass. ‘Tell me, what’s a lovely girl like you doing in the Women’s Air Force thingamijig? Is your father RAF, or something?’
    â€˜No, he’s a rector. He has a parish in Norfolk.’
    â€˜Lord, is he? Never go near the sky pilots myself if I can help it.’
    â€˜Sky pilots?’
    â€˜Padres. God bods. Devil dodgers. Call ’em what you will. Not really my line at all. No offence intended, you understand.’
    â€˜None taken.’
    â€˜Good show.’ He beamed at her. ‘You know, some of the chaps were a bit fussed at first about having popsies round the station.’
    â€˜So I gather.’
    â€˜Not me, though. I’m all for it. Brightens the old place up no end, and it’s jolly nice having them waiting on us in the Mess. Makes the food taste better.’
    â€˜We’re not here just to brighten the station up, Flying Officer Dutton.’
    â€˜
Speedy
, please . . .’ His bright eyes danced. ‘I rather hoped that was why they sent you. To comfort the brave heroes. Smooth our fevered brows. Boost our morale, and all that sort of thing.’
    Declining to rise to the bait, she took a swallow from her glass and coughed as the fiery taste hit the back of her throat. Speedy patted her on the back sympathetically.
    â€˜Lethal concoction old Badger brews. Should’ve warned you. He pours all the bottles in the bath and stirs it with a paddle. I say, look who’s just come in. Enter our flint-eyed Station Master. Don’t often see him at these junkets.’
    Through watering eyes, Felicity caught sight of Wing Commander Palmer at the far side of the room. There was a little eddy of movement around him – as though Royalty had arrived.
    â€˜Damn good pilot in his day,’ Speedy was saying. ‘A real Biggles of the skies, so they say. Bit past it now, of course. Still, he knows how to run the shop all right. Rod of iron stuff.’
    â€˜Who’s that with him?’
    â€˜The blond lovely? Rather a corker, isn’t she? That’s his wife, Caroline. Our First Lady. Rich too. Her family owned a brewery, or something. Lots of loot. Rich, beautiful and
very
classy. Mind you, I’m not sure I envy the old man that much. She spends most of her time up in the Smoke. Not too keen on us humble RAF types. She’s come slumming tonight.
    Mrs Palmer’s long hair was ash blond and her face an oval of pale, smooth skin. She was tall and slim and her plain black dress made every other dress in the room look cheap or dowdy. A little circle of men had surrounded her; a ring of Air Force blue around the black.
    â€˜Bees round the honeypot,’ Speedy observed.
    â€˜I’m rather surprised you’re not there too.’
    â€˜She’s not my type, actually. Bit too much of the cool northern beauty. Besides, I’d be wasting my time for once. She’s not interested in any rank below Flight Lieutenant unless you happen to be very closely related to the Duke of Westminster. That little bunch there haven’t a hope, if they did but know it.’ He smiled at her disarmingly. ‘I’d much sooner be where I am. Ever been to the Old Ship?’
    â€˜What old ship?’
    He squeezed her